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NightofTerror

Night of Terror

By: Desmond Bagley

Synopsis:

The sea and its secrets always fasinated the Trevelyan brothers. It is

on an expedition to a remote Pacific atoll that Mark dies - a natural

death Mike is told. There was no love lost between the two brothers.

But the circumstances surrounding Mark's death were suspicious enough

to force Mike to Investigate - even without the series of violent

attacs on him that followed. There were just two clues - a notebook in

code, and a lump of rock - enough to trigger off a hazardous

expedition, and a violent confrontation far from civilisation.

Publisher:Fontana/Collins.

ISBN:0-00-617-166-4.

DESMOND BAGLEY was born in 1923 in Kendal, Westmorland, and brought up

in Blackpool . He began his working life, aged 14, in the printing

industry and then did a variety of jobs until going into an aircraft

factory at the start of the Second World War.

When the war ended he decided to travel to southern Africa , going

overland through Europe and the Sahara . He worked enroute, reaching

South Africa in 1951.

He became a freelance journalist in Johannesburg and wrote his first

published novel, The Golden Keel, in 1962. In 1964 he returned to

England and lived in Totnes, Devon , for twelve years. He and his wife

then moved to Guernsey in the Channel Islands . Here he found the ideal

place for combining his writing with his other interests, which

included computers, mathematics, military history, and entertaining

friends from all over the world.

Night of Error was written in 1962. It was withheld from publication

by the author as he wished to make certain revisions. As other ideas

took precedence this task was postponed. Now, twenty years later

incorporating the author's revisionary notes, Night of Error takes its

rightful place in Desmond Bagley's list of novels.

CONDITIONS OF SALE This book is sold subject to the condition that it

shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or

otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form

of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and

without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on

the subsequent purchaser.

And when with grief you see your brother stray, Or in a night of error

lose his way, Direct his wandering and restore the day To guide his

steps afford your kindest aid, And gently pity whom you can't persuade:

Leave to avenging Heaven his stubborn will, For, remember, he's your

brother still.

JONATHAN SWIFT For STAN HURST, at last, with affection

Preface

The Pacific Islands Pilot, vol. II, published by the Hydrographer of

the Navy, has this to say about the island of Fonua Fo'ou , almost at

the end of a long and detailed history: In 1963, HMNZFA Tui reported a

hard grey rock, with a depth of 6 feet over it, on which the sea

breaks, and general depths of 36 feet extending for 2 miles northwards

and 1-1/2 miles westward of the rock, in the position of the bank. The

eastern side is steep-to. In the vicinity of the rock, there was much

discoloured water caused by sulphurous gas bubbles rising to the

surface. On the bank, the bottom was clearly visible, and consisted of

fine black cellar lava, like volcanic cinder, with patches of white

sand and rock. Numerous sperm whales were seen in the vicinity.

But that edition was not published until 1969.

This story began in 1962.

Chapter One

I heard of the way my brother died on a wet and gloomy afternoon in

London . The sky was overcast and weeping and it became dark early that

day, much earlier than usual. I couldn't see the figures I was

checking, so I turned on the desk light and got up to close the

curtains.

I stood for a moment watching the rain leak from the plane trees on the

Embankment, then looked over the mistshrouded Thames . I shivered

slightly, wishing I could get out of this grey city and back to sea

under tropic skies. I drew the curtain decisively, closing out the

gloom.

The telephone rang.

It was Helen, my brother's widow, and she sounded hysterical.

"Mike, there's a man here - Mr Kane - who was with Mark when he died.

I think you'd better see him." Her voice broke. "I can't take it,

Mike." "All right, Helen; shoot him over. I'll be here until

five-thirty - can he make it before then?" There was a pause and an

indistinct murmur, then Helen said, "Yes, he'll be at the Institute

before then. Thanks, Mike.

Oh, and there's a slip from British Airways - something has come from

Tahiti ; I think it must be Mark's things. I posted it to you this

morning - will you look after it for me? I don't think I could bear

to." "I'll do that," I said. "I'll look after everything." She rang

off and I put down the receiver slowly and leaned back in my chair.

Helen seemed distraught about Mark and I wondered what this man Kane

had told her. All I knew was that Mark had died somewhere in the

Islands near Tahiti ; the British Consul there had wrapped it all up and

the Foreign Office had got in touch with Helen as next of kin. She

never said so but it must have been a relief - her marriage had caused

her nothing but misery.

She should never have married him in the first place. I had tried to

warn her, but it's a bit difficult telling one's prospective

sister-in-law about the iniquities of one's own brother, and I'd never

got it across. Still, she must have loved him despite everything,

judging by the way she was behaving; but then, Mark had a way with his

women.

One thing was certain - Mark's death wouldn't affect me a scrap.

I had long ago taken his measure and had steered clear of him and all

his doings, all the devious and calculating cold-blooded plans which

had only one end in view - the I put him out of my mind, adjusted the

desk lamp and got down to my figures again. People think of scientists

especially oceanographers - as being constantly in the field making

esoteric discoveries. They never think of the office work entailed and

if I didn't get clear of this routine work I'd never get back to sea.

I thought that if I really buckled down to it another day would see it

through, and then I would have a month's leave, if I could consider

writing a paper for the journals as constituting leave. But even that

would not take up the whole month.

At a quarter to six I packed it in for the day and Kane had still not

shown up. I was just putting on my overcoat when there was a knock on

the door and when I opened it a man said, "Mr Trevelyan?" Kane was a

tall, haggard man of about forty, dressed in rough seaman's clothing

and wearing a battered peaked cap.

He seemed subdued and a little in awe of his surroundings. As we shook

hands I could feel the callouses and thought that perhaps he was a

sailing man - steam seamen don't have much occasion to do that kind of

hand work.

I said, "I'm sorry to have dragged you across London on a day like

this, Mr Kane." "That's all right," he said in a raw Australian

accent.

"I was coming up this way." glorification of Mark Trevelyan.

I sized him up. "I was just going out. What about a drink?" He

smiled. "That'ud be fine. I like your English beer." We went to a

nearby pub and I took him into the public bar and ordered a couple of

beers. He sank half a pint and gasped luxuriously.

"This is good beer,"he said. "Not as good as Swan, but good all the

same. You know Swan beer?" "I've heard of it," I said. "I've never

had any.

Australian, isn't it? "Yair; the best beer in the world." To an

Australian all things Australian are the best. "Would I be correct if

I said you'd done your time in sail?" I said.

He laughed. "Too right you would. How do you know?" "I've sailed

myself; I suppose it shows somehow." "Then I won't have to explain too

much detail when I tell you about your brother. I suppose you want to

know the whole story? I didn't tell Mrs Trevely an all of it, you know

some of it's pretty grim." "I'd better know everything." Kane

finished his beer and cocked an eye at me. "Another?" "Not for me

just yet. You go ahead." He ordered another beer and said, "Well, we

were sailing in the Society Islands - my partner and me - we've got a

schooner and we do a bit of trading and pick up copra and maybe a few

pearls. We were in the Tuamotus - the locals call them the Paumotus,

but they're the

Tuamotus on the charts.

They're east of. .." "I know where they are," I interrupted.

"Okay. Well, we thought there was a chance of picking up a few pearls

so we were just cruising round calling on the inhabited islands.

Most of 'em aren't and most of 'em don't have names - not names that we

can pronounce. Anyway we were passing this one when a canoe came out

and hailed us.

There was a boy in this canoe - a Polynesian, you know - and Jim talked

to him. Jim Hadley's my partner; he speaks the lingo - I don't savvy

it too good myself.

"What he said was that there was a white man on the island who was very

sick, and so we went ashore to have a look at him." "That was my

brother?" :Too right, and he was sick; my word yes." What was wrong

with him?" Kane shrugged. "We didn't know at first but it turned out

to be appendicitis. That's what we found out after we got a doctor to

him."

"Then there was a doctor?" "If you could call him a doctor. He was a

drunken old no-hoper who'd been living in the Islands for years. But

he said he was a doctor. He wasn't there though; Jim had to go fifty

miles to get him while I stayed with your brother." Kane took another

pull at his beer. "Your brother was alone on this island except for

the black boy. There wasn't no boat, either. He said he was some sort

of scientist something to do with the sea." ' An oceanographer."Yes,

like me an oceanographer. Mark had always felt compelled, driven, to

try and beat me whatever the game. And his rules were always his

own.

"Too right. He said he'd been dropped there to do some research and he

was due to be picked up any time." "Why didn't you take him to the

doctor instead of bringing the doctor to him?" I asked.

"We didn't think he'd make it," said Kane simply. "A little ship like

ours bounces about a lot, and he was pretty sick." "I see," I said.

He was painting a rough picture.

"I did what I could for him,"said Kane. "There wasn't much I could do

though, beyond cleaning him up. We talked a lot about this and that

that was when he asked me to tell his wife." "Surely he didn't expect

you to make a special trip to England?" I demanded, thinking that even

in death it sounded like Mark's touch "Oh, it was nothing like that,"

said Kane. "You see, I was coming to England anyway. I won a bit of

money in a sweep and I always wanted to see the old country. Jim, my

cobber, said he could carry on alone for a bit, and he dropped me at

Panama. I hummed a job on a ship coming to England." He smiled

ruefully. "I won't be staying here as long as I thought - I dropped a

packet in a poker game coming across.

I stay until my cash runs out and then I'll go back to Jim and the

schooner." I said, "What happened when the doctor came?" "Oh sure,

you want to know about your brother; sorry if I got off track. Well,

Jim brought this old no-good back and he operated. He said he had to,

it was your brother's only chance. Pretty rough it was too; the doc's

instruments weren't any too good. I helped him - Jim hadn't the

stomach for it." He fell silent, looking back into the past.

I ordered another couple of beers, but Kane said, "I'd like something

stronger, if you don't mind,"so I changed the order to whisky.

I thought of some drunken oaf of a doctor cutting my brother open with

blunt knives on a benighted tropical island.

It wasn't a pretty thought and I think Kane saw the horror of it too,

the way he gulped his whisky. It was worse for him - he had been

there.

"So he died," I said.

"Not right away. He seemed okay after the operation, then he got

worse. The doc said it was per ... peri. .

"Peritonitis?" "That's it. I remember it sounded like peri-peri sauce

- like having something hot in your guts. He got a fever and went

delirious; then he went unconscious and died two days after the

operation." He looked into his glass. "We buried him at sea. It was

stinking hot and we couldn't carry the body anywhere - we hadn't any

ice. We sewed him up in canvas and put him over the side. The doctor

said he'd see to all the details - I mean, it wasn't any use for Jim

and me to go all the way to Papeete the doc knew all we knew." "You

told the doctor about Mark's wife - her address and so on?" Kane

nodded. "Mrs Trevelyan said she'd only just heard about it that's the

Islands postal service for you. You know, he never gave us nothing for

her, no personal stuff I mean. We wondered about that. But she said

some gear of his is on the way - that right?" It might be that," I

said. "There's something at Heathrow now. I'll probably pick it up

tomorrow. When did Mark die, by the way?" He reflected. "Must have

been about four months ago. You don't go much for dates and calendars

when you're cruising the Islands, not unless you're navigating and

looking up the almanack all the time, and Jim's the expert on that. I

reckon it was about the beginning of May. Jim dropped me at Panama

July and I had to wait a bit to get a ship across here." "Do you

remember the doctor's name? Or where he came from?" Kane frowned. "I

know he was a Dutchman; his name was Scoot-something. As near as I can

remember it might have been Scooter. He runs a hospital on one of the

Islands - my word, I can't remember that either." "It's of no

consequence; if it becomes important I can get it from the death

certificate." I finished my whisky. "The last I heard of Mark he was

working with a Swede called Norgaard.

You didn't come across him?" Kane shook his head. "There was only

your brother. We didn't stay around, you know. Not when old Scooter

said he'd take care of everything. You think this Norgaard was

supposed to pick your brother up when he'd finished his job?"

"Something like that," I said. "It's been very good of you to take the

trouble to tell us about Mark's death." He waved my thanks aside. "No

trouble at all; anyone would have done the same. I didn't tell Mrs

Trevelyan too much, you understand." "I'll edit it when I tell her," I

said.

"Anyway, thanks for looking after him. I wouldn't like to think he

died alone."

"Aw, look," said Kane, embarrassed. "We couldn't do anything else now,

could we?" I gave him my card. "I'd like you to keep in touch," I

said.

"Perhaps when you're ready to go back I can help you with a passage. I

have plenty of contacts with the shipping people." "Too right," he

said. "I'll keep in touch, Mr Trevelyan." I said goodbye and left the

bar, ducking into the private bar in the same pub. I didn't think Kane

would go in there and I wanted afew quiet thoughts over another

drink.

I thought of Mark dying a rather gruesome death on that lonely Pacific

atoll. God knows that Mark and I didn't see eye to eye but I wouldn't

have wished that fate on my worst enemy. And yet there was something

odd about the whole story; I wasn't surprised at him being in the

Tuamotus - it was his job to go poking about odd corners of the seven

seas as it was mine - but something struck a sour note.

For instance, what had happened to Norgaard? It certainly wasn't

standard operating procedure for a man to be left entirely alone on a

job. I wondered what Mark and Norgaard had been doing in'the

Tuamotus;

they had published no papers so perhaps their investigation hadn't been

completed.

I made a mental note to ask old Jarvis about it; my boss kept his ear

close to the grapevine and knew everything that went on in the

profession.

But it wasn't that which worried me; it was something else, something

niggling at the back of my mind that I couldn't resolve. I chased it

around for a bit but nothing happened, so I finished my drink and went

home to my flat for a late night session with some figures.

The next day I was at the office bright and early and managed to get my

work finished just before lunch. I was attacking my neglected

correspondence when one of the girls brought in a visitor, and a most

welcome one. Geordie Wilkins had been my father's sergeant in the

Commandos during the war and after my father had been killed he took an

interest in the sons of the man he had so greatly respected. Mark,

typically, had been a little contemptuous of him but I liked Geordie

and we got on well together.

He had done well for himself after the war. He foresaw the yachting

boom and bought himself a 25-ton cutter which he chartered and in which

he gave sailing lessons. Later he gave up tuition and had worked up to

a 200-ton brigantine which he chartered to rich Americans mostly,

taking them anywhere they wanted to go at an exorbitant price.

Whenever he put into England he looked me up, but it had been a while

since last I'd seen him.

He came into the office bringing with him a breath of sea air.

"My God, Mike, but you're pallid," he said. "I'll have to take you

back to sea." "Geordie! Where have you sprung from this time?" "The

Caribbean," he said. "I brought the old girl over for a refit. I'm in

between charters, thank God." "Where are you staying?" "With you - if

you'll have me. Esmerelda's here." "Don't be an idiot," I said

happily. "You know you're welcome. We seem to have struck it lucky

this time; I have to do a bit of writing which will take a week, and

then I've got three weeks spare." He rubbed his chin. "I'm tied up

for a week too, but I'm free after that. We'll push off somewhere."

"That's a great idea," I said. "I've been dying to get away.

Wait while I check this post, would you?" The letter I had just opened

was from Helen; it contained a brief letter and the advisory note from

British Airways.

There was something to be collected from Heathrow which had to clear

customs. I looked up at Geordie. "Did you know that Mark is dead?"

He looked startled. "Dead! When did that happen?" I told him all

about it and he said, "A damned sticky end even for Mark." Then he

immediately apologized. "Sorry - I shouldn't have said that." ,Quit

it, Geordie," I said irritably. "You know how I felt about Mark;,

there's no need to be mealy-mouthed with me "Aye. He was a bit of a

bastard, wasn't he?

How's that wife of his taking it? "About average under the

circumstances. She was pretty broken up but I seem to detect an

underlying note of relief." "She's best remarry and forget him," said

Geordie bluntly.

He shook his head slowly. "It beats me what the women saw in Mark. He

treated 'em like dirt and they sat up and begged for more."

"Some people have it, some don't," I said.

'if it means being like Mark I'd rather not have it. Sad to think one

can't find a good word to say for the man." He took the paper out of

my hand. "Got a car I can use? I haven't been in one for months and

I'd like the drive. I'll get my gear from Esmerelda and go out and

pick this stuff up for you." I tossed him my car keys. "Thanks. It's

the same old wreck you'll find it in the car park." When he had gone I

finished up my paperwork and then went to see the Prof. to pay my

respects. Old Jarvis was quite cordial. "You've done a good job,

Mike,"he said. "I've looked at your stuff briefly and if your

correlations are correct I think we're on to something." "Thank

you."

He leaned back in his chair and started to fill his pipe.

"You'll be writing a paper, of course." "I'll do that while I'm on

leave," I said. "It won't be a long one; just a preliminary. There's

still a lot of sea time to put in." "Looking forward to getting back

to it, are you?" "I'll be glad to get away." He grunted suddenly.

"For every day you spend at sea you'll have three in the office

digesting the data. And don't get into a job like mine; it's all

office-work.

Steer clear of administration, my boy; don't get chair-bound." "I

won't," I promised and then changed tack. "Can you tell me anything

about a fellow called Norgaard? I think he's a Swede working on ocean

currents." Jarvis looked at me from under busby eyebrows. "Wasn't he

the chap working with your brother when he died?" "That's the man."

He pondered, then shook his head. "I haven't heard anything of him

lately; he certainly hasn't published. But I'll make a few enquiries

and put you in touch." And that was that. I didn't know why I had

taken the trouble to ask the Prof. about Norgaard unless it was still

that uneasy itch at the back of my skull, the feeling that something

was wrong somewhere. It probably didn't mean anything anyway, and I

put it out of my mind as I walked back to my office.

It was getting late and I was about ready to leave when Geordie

returned and heaved a battered, ancient suitcase onto my desk. "There

it is,"he said. "They made me open it - it was a wee bit difficult

without a key, though." "What did you do?" "Busted the lock,"he said

cheerfully.

I looked at the case warily. "What's in it? "Not much. Some clothes,

a few books and a lot of pebbles.

And there's a letter addressed to Mark's wife." He untied the string

holding the case together, skimmed the letter across the desk, and

started to haul out the contents - a couple of tropical suits, not very

clean;. two shirts; three pairs of socks; three textbooks on

oceanography - very up-to-date; a couple of notebooks in Mark's

handwriting, and a miscellany of pens, toiletries and small odds and

ends.

I looked at the letter, addressed to Helen in a neat cursive hand.

"I'd better open this,"I said. "We don't know what's in it and I don't

want Helen to get too much of a shock." Geordie nodded and I slit the

envelope. The letter was short and rather abrupt: Dear Mrs Trevelyan,

I am sorry to tell you that your husband, Mark, is dead, although you

may know this already by the time you get this. Mark was a good friend

to me and left some of his things in my care. I am sending them all to

you as I know you would like to have them.

Sincerely, P. Nelson I said, "I thought this would be official, but

it's not." Geordie scanned the short note. "Do you know this chap,

Nelson?" "Never heard of him." Geordie put the letter on the desk and

tipped up the suitcase.

"Then there are these." A dozen or so potato-like objects rolled onto

the desk. Some of them rolled further and thumped onto the carpet, and

Geordie stooped and picked them up. You'll probably make more sense of

these than I can." I turned one in my fingers. "Manganese nodules," I

said.

"Very common in the Pacific." "Are they valuable?" I laughed. 'if

you could get at them easily they might be but you can't, so they

aren't.

They lie on the seabed at an average depth of about fourteen thousand

feet." He looked closely at one of the nodules. "I wonder where he

got these, then? It's a bit deep for skin-diving."

"They're probably souvenirs of the I.G.Y - the International

Geophysical Year. Mark was a physical chemist on one of the ships in

the Pacific."

I took one of the notebooks and flipped the pages at random. Most of

it seemed to be mathematical, the equations close-packed in Mark's

finicky hand.

I tossed it into the open suitcase. "Let's get this stuff packed away,

then we'll go home." So we put everything back, higgledy-piggledy, and

carted the case down to the car. On the way home Geordie said, "What

about a show tonight?"On his rare visits to a city he had a soft spot

for big gaudy musicals.

"If you can get tickets," I said. "I don't feel like queueing."

"I'll get them," he said confidently. "I know someone who owes me a

few favours. Look, drop me right here and I'll see you at the flat in

half an hour, or maybe a bit longer." I dropped him and when I got to

where I lived I took Mark's suitcase first because it came handiest,

then I went'back to the car for Geordie's gear. For some time I

pottered about estimating what I'd need for a trip away with him, but I

had most of what I needed and the list of things I had to get was very

short and didn't take long to figure out.

After a while I found myself looking at the suitcase. I picked it up,

put it on the bed and opened it and looked at the few remnants of

Mark's life. I hoped that when I went I'd leave more than a few books,

a few clothes and a doubtful reputation. The clothing was of no

particular interest but, as I lifted up a jacket, a small leather-bound

notebook fell out of the breast pocket.

I picked it up and examined it. It had obviously been used as a diary

but most of the entries were in shorthand, once Pitman's, but adapted

in an idiosyncratic way so that they_ were incomprehensible to anyone

but the writer - Mark.

Occasionally there were lines of chemical and mathematical notation and

every now and then there was a doodled drawing. I remembered that Mark

had been a doodler even at school and had been ticked off often because

of the state of his exercise books. There wasn't much sense to be made

of any of it.

I put the diary on my dressing table and turned to the larger

notebooks. They were much more interesting although scarcely more

comprehensible. Apparently, Mark was working on a theory of nodule

formation that, to say the least of it, was harebrained - certainly

from the point of view of orthodox physical chemistry. The time scale

he was using was fantastic, and even at a casual glance his qualitative

analysis seemed out of line.

Presently I heard Geordie come in. He popped his head round the door

of the bedroom and said triumphantly, "I've got the tickets.

Let's have a slap-up dinner first and then go on to the theatre."

"That's a damned good idea," I said. I threw the notebooks and the

clothing back into the case and retied the lid down.

Geordie nodded at it. "Find anything interesting?" I grinned.

"Nothing, except that Mark was going round the bend. He'd got hold of

some damn fool idea about nodules and was going overboard about it." I

shoved the case under the bed and began to get dressed for dinner.

It was a good dinner and a better show and we drove home replete with

fine food and excellent entertainment. Geordie was in high spirits and

sang in a cracked and tuneless voice one of the numbers from the

show.

We were both in a cheerful mood.

I parked the car outside the block of flats and got out. There was

still a thin drizzle of rain but I thought that by morning it would

have cleared. That was good; I wanted fine weather for my leave. As I

looked up at the sky I stiffened.

"Geordie, there's someone in my flat." He looked up at the third floor

and saw what I had seen - a furtive, hunting light moving at one of the

windows.

"That's a torch." His teeth flashed as he grinned in the darkness.

"It's a long time since I've had a proper scrap." I said, "Come on,"

and ran up into the foyer.

Geordie caught my arm as I pressed for the lift. "Hold on, let's do

this properly," he said. "Wait one minute and then go up in the

lift.

I'll take the stairs - we should arrive on your floor at the same

time.

Covers both exits." I grinned and saluted. "Yes, sergeant." You

can't keep an old soldier down; Geordie was making a military operation

out of catching a sneak thief - but I followed orders.

I went up in the lift and stepped out into the lighted corridor.

Geordie had made good time up the stairs and was breathing as easily as

though he'd been strolling on the level.

He motioned me to keep the lift door open and reached inside to press

the button for the top floor. I closed the door and the lift went

up.

He grinned in his turn - "Anyone leaving in a hurry must use the stairs

now. Got your key?" I passed it to him and we walked to the door of

my flat, treading softly. Through the uncurtained kitchen window I

could see the flash of a torch. Geordie cautiously inserted the key

into the lock. "We'll go in sharpish," he whispered, gave the key a

twist, threw open the door and plunged into the flat like an angry

bull.

As I followed on his heel I heard a shout -"Ojo!" - and the next thing

I knew was a blinding flash in my eyes and I was grappling with someone

at the kitchen door. Whoever it was hit me on the side of the head, it

must have been with the torch because the light went out. I felt dizzy

for a moment but held on, thrusting forward and bringing my knee up

sharply.

I heard a gasp of pain and above it the roar of Geordie's voice from

further in the flat - possibly the bedroom.

I let go my grip and struck out with my fist, and yelled in pain as my

knuckles hit the kitchen door. My opponent squirmed out from where I

had him pinned and was gone through the open door of the flat.

Things were happening too fast for me. I could hear Geordie swearing

at the top of his voice and the crash of furniture. A light tenor

voice called, "Huid! Huid! No dispar6is! Emplead cuchillos!" Then

suddenly someone else banged into me in the darkness and I struck out

again.

I knew now that this assailant would certainly have a knife and

possibly a gun and I think I went berserk - it's wonderful what the

adrenal glands will do for a man in an emergency. In the light from

the corridor I caught a glimpse of an upraised knife and I chopped

viciously at the wrist. There was a howl of pain and the knife

clattered to the floor. I aimed a punch at where I thought a stomach

was - and missed.

Something was swung at the side of my head again and I went down as a

black figure jumped over me. If he hadn't stopped to kick at my head

he would have got clean away, but I squirmed to avoid his boot and

caught his leg, and he went sprawling into the corridor.

I dived after him and got between him and the stairs, and he stood in a

crouch looking at me, his eyes darting about, looking for escape.

Then I saw what he must have swung at my head in the flat - it was

Mark's suitcase.

Suddenly he turned and ran, towards the blank end of the corridor.

"I've got him now," I thought exultantly, and well after him at a dead

run. But he had remembered what I'd forgotten the fire escape.

He might have got away then but once again I tackled him rugby-fashion

so that I floored him just short of the fire escape. The fall knocked

the breath out of me and he improved the shining hour by kicking me in

the face. Then, as I was shaking my head in dizziness, he tossed

Mark's case into the darkness.

By the time I regained my feet I was between him and the metal

staircase and he was facing me with his right hand, now unencumbered,

darting to his pocket. I saw the gun as he drew it and knew the

meaning of real fear. I jumped for him and he side-stepped frantically

trying to clear the gun from his pocket - but the foresight must have

caught on the lining.

Then I hit him hard on the jaw and he teetered on the top step of the

fire escape. I hit him again and slammed him against the railing and,

to my horror, he jackknifed over. He didn't make a sound as he fell

the three floors into the alley and it seemed a long time before I

heard the dull thump as he hit the ground.

I looked down into the darkness and saw nothing. I was conscious of

the trembling of my hands as.they gripped the steel rail. There was a

scurry of footsteps and I turned to see Geordie darting down the

stairs. "Leave them," I shouted.

"They're armed!" But he didn't stop and all I heard was the thud of

his feet as he raced down the staircase.

The tall thin man who lived in the next flat came out in a dressing

gown. "Now, what's all this?" he asked querulously.

"A chap can't listen to the radio with all this racket going on."

I said, "Phone the police. There's -been an attempted murder." His

face went white and he looked at my arm. I looked down and saw blood

staining the edges of a slit in the sleeve of my jacket. I couldn't

remember being knifed and I felt nothing.

I looked back up at him. "Well, hurry," I yelled at him.

A gunshot echoed up the stairwell and we both started.

"Christ!" I clattered down the stairs at top speed, all three flights,

and came across Geordie in the foyer. He was sitting on the floor

staring at his fingers in amazement - they were red with welling

blood.

"The bastard shot me!" he said incredulously.

"Where are you hit, for God's sake?" "In the hand, I think. I don't

feel anything anywhere else, and he only fired one shot." I looked at

his hand. Blood was spurting from the end of his little finger. I

began to laugh, an hysterical sound not far from crying, and went on

until Geordie slapped my face with his unwounded hand.

"Pull yourself together, Mike," he said firmly. I became aware of

doors slammin and voices upstairs but as yet nobody had ventured down

into the foyer itself, and I sobered suddenly.

"I think I killed one of them,"I said emptily.

"Don't be daft. How could you kill a man with your fist?" "I knocked

him off the fire escape. He fell from the third floor."

Geordie looked at me closely. "We'd better go and have a look at

that."

"Are you all right?" We were both bleeding freely now.

He was wrapping his finger in a handkerchief which promptly turned

bright red. "I'm okay. You can't call this a mortal wound," he said

dryly. We went out into the street and walked quickly round to the

alley into which the fire escape led. As we turned the corner there

was a sudden glare of light and the roar of an engine, together with

the slamming of a car door.

"Look out!" yelled Geordie and flung himself sideways.

I saw the two great eyes of headlamps rushing at me from the darkness

of the alley and I frantically flattened myself against the wall. The

car roared past and I felt the wind of it brush my trousers, and then

with a squeal of hard-used tires it turned the corner and was gone.

I listened to the noise of the engine die away and eased myself from

the wall, taking a deep shaky breath. In the light of the street lamp

on the corner I saw Geordie pick himself up. "Christ!" I said.

"You don't know what's going to happen next." "This lot aren't

ordinary burglars," said Geordie, brushing himself down. "They're too

bloody persistent. Where's this fire escape?" "A bit further along,"

I said.

We walked slowly up the alley and Geordie fell over the man I had

knocked over the edge. We bent down to examine him and, in the faint

light, we could see his head. It was twisted at an impossible angle

and there was a deep bloody depression in the skull .

Geordie said, "No need to look any further. He's dead." "And you say

they were speaking Spanish,"said the Inspector.

I nodded wearily. "As soon as we went into the flat someone shouted,

"Look out!" and then I was in the middle of a fight.

A bit later on another. man. shouted, "Get out of here; don't shoot

use your knives." I think it was the man I knocked off the fire

escape." The Inspector looked at me thoughtfully. "But you say he was

going to shoot you." "He'd lost his knife by then, and I was going for

him." "How good is your Spanish, Mr Trevelyan?" "Pretty good," I

said.

"I did a lot of work off south-west Europe about four years ago and I

was based in Spain. I took the trouble to learn the language I have a

flair for them." The doctor tied a neat knot in the bandage round my

arm and said, "That'll hold it, but try not to use the arm for a

while."He packed his bag and went out.

I sat up and looked about the flat-it was like a field dressing station

in a blitzed area. I was stripped to the waist with a bandaged arm and

Geordie sported a natty bandage on his little finger.

He was drinking tea and he held out his finger like a charlady at a

garden party.

The flat was a wreck. What hadn't been broken by the burglars had been

smashed during the fight. A chair with no legs lay in the corner and

broken glass from the front of my bookcase littered the carpet. A

couple of uniformed constables stood stolidly in the corners and a

plain clothes man was blowing powder about the place with an

insufflator.

The Inspector said, "Once again - how many of them were there?"

Geordie said, "I had two on my hands at one time." "I had a go at

two," I said.

"But I think that one of them had a bash at Geordie first.

It's difficult to say - it happened so fast." "This man you heard did

he say "knife" or "knives"?" I thought about that. "He said

"knives"."

The Inspector said, "Then there were more than two of them." Geordie

said unexpectedly, "There were four." The Inspector looked at him with

raised eyebrows.

"I saw three men in the car that passed us. One driving and two

getting in in a hurry. With one dead in the alley - that makes

four."

"Ah yes,"said the Inspector. "They would have one man in the car.

Tell me, how did you come to get shot?" A smile touched Geordie's

lips.

"How does anyone get shot? With a gun." The Inspector recognized a

touch of over-excitement and said dryly, "I mean, what were the

circumstances?" "Well" I chased the little bastard down the stairs and

damn nearly caught him in the foyer. He saw he- was going to be copped

so he turned and let me have it. I hadn't reached him yet. I was so

surprised I sat down - then I saw all the blood." "You say he was

little?" "That he was. A little squirt of not more than five foot

four." "So two men went down the stairs, there was one in the car

and

one went over the fire escape,"the Inspector summarized.

MEMO&.

He had a blunt, square face with watchful grey eyes which he suddenly

turned on me like gimlets. "You say this man threw a suitcase into the

alley." "That's right." We haven't found it, Mr Trevelyan." I said,

"The others must have picked it up. That's when they nearly ran us

down."

He said softly, "How did they know it was there?" "I don't know. They

may have seen it coming over. I guess the car was parked in the alley

waiting for the others to come down that way." He nodded.

"What was in the suitcase - do you know?" I glanced across at Geordie

who looked back at me expressionlessly. I said, "Some stuff belonging

to my brother."

"What kind of - er stuff?" "Clothing, books geological samples." The

Inspector sighed. "Anything important or valuable?" I shook my

head.

"I doubt it." "What about the samples?" I said, "I only saw the

specimens briefly. They appeared to be manganese nodules of the type

which is often to be found on the ocean bed.

They're very common, you know" "And valuable?" he persisted.

"I don't think that anyone with knowledge of them would regard them as

valuable," I said. "I suppose they might be if they were generally

accessible, but it's too hard to get at them through two or three miles

of water." The Inspector seemed at a loss. "How do you think your

brother will regard the loss of those specimens, and his other

things?"

"He's dead,"I said.

The Inspector sharpened his attention. "Oh? When did he die?" "About

four months ago - in the Pacific." He looked at me closely and I went

on,"My brother, Mark, was an oceanographer like myself. He died of

appendicitis a few months ago and I've just received his effects

today.

As for the specimens I would say they were souvenirs of the I.G.Y 1=

survey in which he was engaged. As a scientist he would naturally be

interested in them." 'llm," said the Inspector. "Is there anything

else missing, Mr Trevelyan?" "Not that I know of." Geordie clattered

his cup. "I think we were too quick for them," he said.

"They thought they were on to a good thing, but we didn't give them

enough time. So one of them grabbed the first thing he saw and tried

to make a getaway." I carefully didn't mention that the case had been

hidden under my bed.

The Inspector looked at Geordie with something approaching contempt.

"This isn't an ordinary burglary," he said. "Your explanation doesn't

account for the fact that they went to a lot of trouble to retrieve the

suitcase, or why they used so many weapons." He turned to me. "Have

you any enemies in Spain?" I shrugged. "I shouldn't think so." He

pursed his lips. "All right, Mr Trevelyan, let's go back to the

beginning again. Let's start when you say you first saw the light on

in your flat. . .." It was after three a.m. before we got rid of the

police, and they were back again next morning, to recheck the premises

and to hear the whole tale yet again. The Inspector wasn't satisfied

but neither he nor any of his colleagues could pin down what was

wrong.

Come to that - neither could I. It was a great way to start my leave.

His last word to me that morning was, "There's been a fatality here, Mr

Trevelyan, and that's a very serious matter. I shall expect both of

you to hold yourselves in readiness for the inquest. You are not under

arrest," he added in such a way as to make me feel that I was.

He strode out of the flat with his minions trailing behind.

"In other words - don't leave town," I said. "There goes a very

unhappy policeman." Geordie said, "He'll be burning up the wires

looking for an expert on manganese nodules. He think there's something

fishy there." "By God, so do I! But he won't find much. He'll phone

the Institute of course, and speak to Jarvis or some other big noise

and get exactly the same story I told him." I got up, went into the

kitchen and got a couple of bottles of beer from the refrigerator and

took them back into the living room. Geordie eye d them and said, "You

have some good ideas, sometimes. Tell me, these nodules - are they

really valueless?" "I told the coppers the plain truth," I said.

"But

Mark seemed to have some curious ideas about nodule formation still,

the notebooks are, gone and I can't check up on, his theories without

them." Then suddenly I remembered something."Wait a minute,"I said and

went into the bedroom. Sure enough, there it was the little

leather-bound diary, still lying on my dressing-table.

The police would have had no reason to think it wasn't mine, and hadn't

touched it.

I went back and tossed it to Geordie. "They didn't get that. I meant

to tell you - I found it in a pocket of one of Mark's suits.

What do you make of it? He opened the book with interest but I watched

the enthusiasm seep out of him as he scanned the pages. "What the

hell!" "That's Mark's patent Pitman variation," I said." I doubt if

old Isaac himself could make anything of it "What are all the

drawings?" "Mark was an inveterate doodler," I said. "You'd have to

apply psychological theory to make anything of those." I sat mulling

over the events of the previous day, trying to piece them together.

"Geordie, listen to this," I said. "Mark dies, and Norgaard, his

colleague, disappears. Jarvis keeps his ear close to the ground and

knows all the gossip of the profession, and if he says he hasn't heard

anything of Norgaard then it's unlikely that anyone else has either."

I held up a finger. "That's one thing." "Do you know anything about

Norgaard?" "Only that he's one- of us oceanographers. He's a Swede,

but he was on an American survey ship during the I.G.Y. I lost sight of

him after that; a lot of comradeship went for a bust when the operation

closed down."

"What's his speciality?" "Ocean currents. He's one of those geniuses

who can dredge up a bit of water and tell you which way it was flowing

a million years ago last Wednesday. I don't think there's a name for

his line yet, so I'll call it paleoaquaology - there's a mouthful for

you." Geordie raised his eyebrows. "Can they really do that kind of

thing?" I grinned. "They'd like you to believe so, and I've no reason

to doubt it. But to my mind there's a hell of a lot of theorbalancing

uneasily on too few facts.

My fine is different - I analyse what I'm given and if anyone wants to

build any whacky theories on what I tell 'em, that's their affair."

"And Mark was like yourself - an analytical chemist. Why would he team

up with Norgaard? They don't seem to have anything in common." I said

slowly, "I don't know; I really don't know." I was thinking of the

highly unlikely theory indicated in Mark's missing notebooks.

'all right," Geordie said. "Norgaard's disappeared - you think.

What else have you got?" "The next thing is Kane. The whole thing is

too damn pat.

Kane turns up and we have a burglary. He knew the stuff was coming - I

told him." Geordie chuckled. "And how do you tie in the four Spanish

burglars with Kane? Speaking as a non-theoreticist, that is?" "I'm

damned if I know. There's something odd about that too. I couldn't

place the accent; it was one I've never heard before." "You don't know

them all,"said Geordie. "You'd have to be born Spanish to be that

good." "True." There was a long silence while I marshalled my

thoughts.

"I wish I could get hold of Kane." "You think there's something odd

about him, don't you?" "I do. But I don't know what it is. I've been

trying to bring it to the surface ever since I saw him."

"Mike, I think this is all a lot of nonsense," Geordie said

decisively.

"I think your imagination is working overtime.

You've had a shock about Mark's death and another over the burglary -so

have I, come to that. But I don't think Norgaard has mysteriously

disappeared; I think he's probably sitting somewhere writing a thesis

on prehistoric water. As for Kane, you've got nothing but a blind

hunch. But I'll tell you what I'll do. If Kane is a seaman he'll

probably be down somewhere in dockland, and if you want him that bad

I'll put my boys on to nosing around a bit. It's a pretty hopeless

chance but it's all I can do." "Thanks, Geordie," I said.

"Meantime, I'd better ring Helen and tell her I've been burgled. She's

not going to like hearing that Mark' stuff is gone but there's no hope

for it. I can only play it down, tell her it was all worthless

anyway." "Are you going to pass on the notebook to her?" I shook my

head thoughtfully.

"What notebook? As far as she's concerned, it was all stolen. She

could never make anything of that stuff of Mark's but maybe I can." I

had nightmares that night.

I dreamed of a lovely Pacific island with white beaches and waving palm

fronds where I wandered quite happily until I became aware that the sky

was darkening and a cold, icy wind had arisen. I started to run but my

feet slipped in the soft sand and I made no progress. And I knew what

I was running from.

He caught me at last with my back to a palm trunk, and came nearer and

nearer, brandishing a rusty kitchen knife. I knew it was the Dutch

doctor, although he was screaming in Spanish, "Empled cuchilo cuchillo

- cuchillo!" He was drunk and sweaty-faced and as he came nearer I

felt powerless to move and I knew he was going to stick me with the

knife. At last his face was close to mine and I could see the

individual beads of sweat on his shiny forehead and his lean dark

face.

It was the face of Kane. He drew back his arm and struck with the

knife right into my guts.

I woke with a yell I was breathing deeply, taking in great gulps of

air, and I could feel a slick film of sweat all over my body. The

knifescratch in my arm was aching. And I knew at last what was wrong

with Kane's story.

The bedroom door opened and Geordie said in a low voice, "What the

devil's going on?" I said, "Come in, Geordie; I'm all right - just a

nightmare." I switched on the bedside light and Geordie said me a hell

of a fright, Mike." "I gave myself a hell of a fright," I said and

"But I discovered something - or remembered sc "What?" I tapped

Geordie emphatically on the chest with a finger. "Mark had his

appendix out years ago." Geordie looked startled. "But the death

certificate "I don't know anything about the death certificate. I

haven't seen it yet, so I don't know if it's a fake. But I know that

Mr. Bloody Kane is a fake." "Are you sure about this?" "I still know

the doctor who operated on Mark. I'll give him a ring and check on it

- but I'm sure."

"Perhaps this Dutch doctor made a mistake," offered Geordie.

"He'd be a damned good doctor who could take out an appendix that

wasn't there,"I said acidly."Doctors can't make mistakes like that."

"Not unless he was covering up. Lots of doctors bury their

mistakes."

"You mean he was incompetent?" I thought about that, then shook my

head decisively. "No, Geordie, that won't wash, He'd see the old

operation scar the moment he made his examination, and he'd know the

appendix had already been removed. He wouldn't stick his neck out by

signing a certificate that could be so easily disproved - no one is as

incompetent as that." "Aye. If he wanted to cover up he'd put down

the cause of death as fever or something like that- something you

couldn't prove one way or another. But we don't know what he put on

the certificate."

"We'll soon find out. They sent it to Helen. And I want to find Kane

more than ever - I want to nail that lying bastard."

"We'll do our best," said Geordie. He didn't sound too hopeful.

Chapter Two

I had no more dreams that night, but slept heavily and late. It was

Geordie who woke me by shaking my shoulder - and incidentally hurting

my arm once again. I groaned and turned away, but he persisted until I

opened my eyes. "You're wanted on the phone," he said. "It's the

Institute." I put on my dressing gown and was still thick-headed with

sleep when I lifted the receiver. It was young Simms. "Dr, Trevelyan,

I've taken over your old office while you're away and you've left

something behind. I don't know if it's valuable or if you want it at

all I mumbled, "What is it?" "A manganese nodule." I was jolted wide

awake. "Where did you find it?" "I didn't. One of the cleaners found

it under your desk and gave it to me. What should I do with it?"

"Stick tight to it. I'll pick it up this morning. It's got some

relation to work I'm engaged on. Thanks for calling." I turned to

Geordie. "All is not lost," I said, 'we've got a nodule. You dropped

some on the floor of my office, remember, and you left one under the

desk." "I don't see what all the fuss is about. All along you've been

insisting that the damn things are worthless.

What's so exciting about this one?" I said, "There are too many

mysteries connected with this

particular lot to suit me. I'm going to take a closer look at this

one." As I breakfasted on a cigarette and a cup of strong coffee I

rang

Helen and asked her to read out Mark's death certificate.

It was in French, of course, and she had some difficulties over the

hand-written parts but we got it sorted out. I put down the phone and

said to Geordie, "Now I want to talk to that doctor as well as Kane."

I felt full of anger and frustration.

"What was the cause of death?" "Peritonitus following an

appendectomy.

And that's impossible. The doctor's name is Hans Schouten. It was

signed in Tanakabu, in the Tuamotus." "He's a hell of a long way from

here." "But Kane isn't. Do your damndest to find him, Geordie."

Geordie sighed. "I'll do my best, but this is a bloody big city, and

no one but you and Helen can identify him for sure." I dressed and

drove down to the Institute, retrieved the nodule from Simnis and then

went down to the laboratories I was going to analyse'this lump of rock

down to the last trace elements. First I photographed it in colour

from several angles and took a casting of it in latex - that took care

of the external record. Then I cut it in half with a diamond saw. Not

entirely unexpectedly, in the centre was the white bone of a shark's

tooth, also neatly cut in two.

One of the pieces I put in the rock mill and, while it was being ground

to the consistency of fine flour, I polished and etched the flat

surface of the other piece. Then the real work began. By early

afternoon everything was well under way and luckily I had had the place

almost to myself the whole time, but then Jarvis walked in - He was

surprised to see me.

"You're supposed to be on leave, Mike. What's all this?" He looked at

the set-up on the bench. I had no worries about that - I could have

been analysing anything, and the identifiable half-rock was out of

sight. I said lightly, "Oh, just some homework I promised I'd do when

I had the chance." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

"What have you been up to, young feller? Saw something about you in

yesterday's press, didn't I? And I had a chap in from Scotland Yard

asking questions about you - and about manganese nodules. And he said

you'd killed someone?"

"I had a burglary two nights ago and knocked a chap off the fire

escape," I said. I hadn't seen the papers myself and it hadn't

occurred to me that the story would be public. From Simms' lack of

reaction, however, it seemed not to be exactly front-page news.

"MMm', said Jarvis. "Very unfortunate. Place is getting like

Chicago.

Nasty for you. But what's it got to do with nodules?" "A couple were

nicked from my place, with other stuff. I told him they weren't of

much value." "I made that plain to the Inspector,"growled Jarvis.

"And I take it he's now convinced that your burglars were surprised and

took the first things that came to hand. I gave you a reasonable

character, by the way." I had my doubts about the Yard's acceptance of

the front story. The Inspector had struck me as being full "of deep

suspicions.

"Well, my boy, I'll leave you to it. Anything interesting?, He cast an

inquisitive glance at the bench.

I smiled. "I don't know yet." He nodded. "That's the way it is,"he

said rather vaguely and wandered out. I looked at the bench and

wondered if I was wasting my time. My own knowledge, backed by that of

an expert like Jarvis, told me that this was just an ordinary Pacific

nodule and nothing out of the ordinary. Still, I had gone so far, I

might as well carry on. I left the glassware to bubble on its own for

a while and went to take photomicrographs of the etched surface of the

half-nodule.

I was busy for another couple of hours and having to use my bad arm

didn't help. Normally I would have used the services of a laboratory

technician but this was one job I wanted to do myself. And it was

fortunate that I had taken that precaution because what I finally found

astounded me - I looked incredulously at the table of figures that was

emerging, breathing heavily with excitement and with my mind full of

conflicting conjectures.

Then I became even busier, carefully dismantling the glassware and

meticulously washing every piece. I wanted no evidence left of what

I'd been up to. That done, I phoned the flat.

Geordie answered. "Where the devil have you been?" he demanded.

"We've had the cops, the press, the insurance people - the lot."

"Those are the last people I want to be bothered with right now.

Is everything clear now?" "Aye."

"Good. I don't suppose you found Kane."

"You suppose rightly. If you're so suspicious of him why don't you

take what you've got to the police? They can do a better job of

finding him than I can." "I don't want to do that right now. I'm

coming home, Geordie. I've got something to tell you." "Have you

eaten, boy?" I suddenry realized that I hadn't eaten a mouthful all

day.

I felt very hungry. "I've been too busy," I said hopefully.

"I thought so. I'll tell you what; I'll cook up something in this

kitchen of yours -one of my slurngullions - Then we won't have to go

out and maybe get tagged by one of the newspaper blokes." "Thanks.

That'll be fine." On the way home I bought some newspapers and found

that the story had already sunk with no trace. A local shop produced

me a copy of the previous day's press and the story was a short one,

buried in the body of the paper, lacking in detail and with no mention

of what had been stolen, which suited me very well. I didn't want to

be questioned on anything concerning manganese nodules. I'm not

naturally a good liar.

When I entered the flat I found Geordie busy in the kitchen surrounded

by a mouth-watering aroma, and a remarkably well cleaned up living

room. I made a mental note never to have glass-fronted bookshelves

again - I didn't much like them anyway. Geordie called out, "It'll be

ready in about an hour, so you can get your news off your chest before

we eat.

I'll be out in two ticks." I went to the cabinet for the whisky bottle

and two glasses, then picked my old school atlas off the bookshelf.

Ink-blotted and politically out-of-date, as it was, it would still suit

my purpose. I put it on the table and turned to the pages which showed

the Pacific.

Geordie came out of the kitchen and I said, "Sit here. I want to tell

you something important."

He saw the glint of excitement in my eye, smiled and sat down

obediently. I poured out two whiskies and said, "I'm going to give you

a little lecture on basic oceanography. I hope you won't be bored."

"Go ahead, Mike." "At the bottom of the oceans - particularly the

Pacific there is a fortune in metallic ores in the form of small lumps

lying on the seabed." I took the half-nodule from my pocket and put it

on the table. "Like this lump here. There's no secret about this.

Every oceanographer knows about them." Geordie picked it up and

examined it. "What's this white bit in the middle?" "A shark's

tooth."

"How the hell did that get in the middle of a piece of rock?" "That

comes later," I said impatiently,"in the second lesson.

Now, these lumps are composed mainly of manganese dioxide, iron oxide

and traces of nickel, cobalt and copper, but to save time they're

usually referred to as manganese nodules.

I won't tell you how they got onto the seabed - that comes later too

but the sheer quantity is incredible." I turned to the atlas and moved

my forefinger from south to north off the shoreline of the Americas,

starting at Chile and moving towards Alaska. "Proved deposits here, at

the average of one pound a square foot, cover an area of two million

square miles and involve twenty-six billion tons of nodules." I swept

my finger out to Hawaii. "This is the mid-Pacific Rise. Four million

square miles - fifty-seven billion tons of nodules." "Hell's

teeth,"said Geordie. "You were right about incredible figures." I

ignored this and moved my finger south again, to Tahiti.

"Fourteen million square miles to as manganese nodules.